


For You

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Read My Lips [13]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: <i>Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, (810): I must be too annoying 4 u.</i> In which Rodney despairs over John's text speak and John misses guitars</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You

The problem with so much brilliance in so small a place was that it could become blinding, dangerous, and when things between John and Rodney became too much, they retreated to their desks on opposite sides of the lab and didn't talk to each other, not directly. They used the intra-lab instant messaging system instead, because it was less likely to result in a screaming match that Lorne would have to wade into or the other scientists throwing tokens at Rodney so they would calm down and apologize to each other already.  
  
Rodney's stomach had been growling for half an hour before he realized the little message icon in the corner of his screen was bouncing and blinking blue. He clicked on it. It was a message from John. It was 45 minutes stale.  
  
_JPS: I must be too annoying 4 u._  
  
John's tendency to use text-speak like a teenage girl would have been ten times more annoying from any other person if Rodney didn't know that John had taken to text messages as soon as the service became available because it was a way for him to communicate with people he hadn't had before, when TDD became cumbersome and annoying. The ability to text fast and with a limited character space must have been an invaluable skill. Unfortunately, John had never broken the habit.  
  
_MRM: Sorry. Working. Distracted._  
  
_JPS: Lunch? U must have low blood sugar._  
  
Rodney glanced at the clock on his laptop screen, then at the word processor where his theory was coming together. He was on the cusp of it, could feel it right at his fingertips.  
  
_MRM: Five more minutes._  
  
_JPS: K._  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Rodney was still typing, and he noticed the sandwich that appeared at his elbow only long enough to check it for citrus – he didn't trust all the new scientists yet – and then eat it.  
  
Three hours later, he realized his message icon was blinking and bouncing again.  
  
_JPS: ):_  
  
Rodney twisted around in his chair. John's desk was empty, his laptop closed. He cursed under his breath in French – Zelenka wasn't the only one with a tendency to curse in a foreign language so the sheer filthiness of his epithets went undetected – and checked the time on his computer. And then he realized there was another blinking icon on his screen.  
  
His calendar.  
  
Oh no. What had he forgotten?  
  
The lab was suspiciously quiet. How had Rodney not noticed? He was used to the murmurs and rustles of the others working in the lab with him. He stood up, prowled into the hallway. It was empty too. What was going on?  
  
He opened the calendar app on his laptop and – oh hell. Lorne's birthday party.  
  
Rodney dashed for the transporter, emerged down the hall from the rec room where John and Teyla and Teldy had planned for the party to be held, and there was already a massive group gathered. Rodney had to crane his neck to search the crowd, but he picked out John's spiky hair easily enough. It took some elbowing to get through the crowd to stand beside John. Sergeant Mehra was sitting on the table beside Lorne and the birthday cake Dr. Porter had baked for him, guitar across her knees, playing the birthday song while people sang.  
  
Rodney was probably the only one who saw the naked longing on John's face as he watched Mehra strumming the strings.  
  
Rodney reached out, curled his fingers through John's, and squeezed. Maybe for the rest of the day they could talk with their hands after all. And maybe, when it was just the two of them alone in their quarters, they could talk with their mouths.


End file.
